Irina Muravskaya - Trap. Fantastic fiction

Translator Elena Nesterenko

Illustrator Svetlana Yvgenievna Smirnova

© Irina Muravskaya, 2018

© Elena Nesterenko, translation, 2018

© Svetlana Yvgenievna Smirnova, illustrations, 2018

ISBN 978-5-4493-1441-3

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

“Greetings, Trap!” Vengeance took a rapid glance on the room and the Trap, who was clearly bored; then quickly slipped inside, and slouched in the armchair, smiling.

“Well then?” Trap stared indifferently, rubbing her scraggy hands.

“What then? How are you keeping?” Vengeance’s eyes were shifty; she was trying to catch the mood.

“Things go south. I’m totally fed up with it. I speak wrong, I entrap wrong, I spook wrong… I am sickened of my clients. It’s high time to have some rest.” Trap heaved a sigh.

“Rest? Well, people definitely won’t be better off without you!”

“Yes, the will. I’ll let them rest on their own, while I’m slackening cares. Enjoying life, you know.” Trap yawned and wrapped herself in her old shawl. She looked offended.

“That’s all for nothing. It’s gonna be dull as ditch-water.”

“Might be dull for you. You’re having too much fun anyway, it’s me who has to do all the nasty job afterwards. They moan, they scream… My ears are not made of stone, you know. I have to actually scrape quite a number of people off the pavement… Jumping from the window is a weird trend, indeed.”

“Put some headphones on… Grief has presented you cool ones!”

“Yeah, right… It’s only her stinkaroo that they reproduce, totally tiresome. Her music made me lose a taste for good hunt, you know. That present is as good as a headache.”

“How can we get through without you?” Vengeance became nervous. “What if you vacation runs over time?”

“It’s none of your business. I’ll rest as long as it takes. Let Intrigues entertain you,” Trap flatly answered.

“It makes no sense without you,” Vengeance sounded unsure.

“Stop whining, or I’ll get angry and you’ll end up in the end of the queue – forever.”

“We’ll get you a new shawl. A pink of fashion!”

“I have my own fashion,” the Trap made a wry face and turned away.

“I know, I know… Witches knit for you.”

“Oh, you’ve reminded me of something. I need a new witch for the woods, do you have anyone in mind?

“No problems, we’ll look for her. I’ll go through your files, maybe someone will do.”

“Yes, do it,” the Trap yawned. “I’m so sleepy. Don’t bother me any longer. I’m telling you, I want to go back to good old traps in the woods, and to rest in silence. All these loans, bankruptcy, honey-traps… Boring.”

“All right, all right, rest then!” Vengeance pulled a face, tidied her magnificent hair and quietly disappeared outside.

“Tickets to Yaroslavl…” A ticket merchant, wearing suburban worn leather jacket, whose shag covered a large scar on his forehead, walked around the ticket desks, urging people to buy a bus ticket.

“Where are you going, girl?” He approached to Victoria.

“Get away from me, I’m in a queue to the ticket desk,” the girl answered as harshly as possible.

“And still…” The hawker smiled crookedly. “I know that you are heading to Saint Petersburg, and you are in a hurry… You need to pick up an urgent parcel, but it is far away… You are late…”

“I ask you, dude, back off. Don’t you add insult to injury,” Victoria snapped, and silently regretted that she had not bought the ticket via the Internet.

“Well, you are the boss,” the merchant turned around, and, spinning his keys on the finger, headed into the depth of the box office. “Tickets to Yaroslavl!” He continued to tout.

His voice almost blended into the rumble of voices and the noise of the station, but she could still hear it.

“Tickets to London, request stop in Saint Petersburg…” the hawker went on in an indifferent voice.

Victoria flinched and turned abruptly to look at the merchant, who slowly disappeared at the back of the station.

“Tickets to Yaroslavl…” She heard his monotonous voice.

“What’s wrong with me?” Victoria thought. “How come he knows… Holy smokes! What kind of joke is this?”

“Tickets to London…” She heard the merchant again.

“Wait, fellow!” She gave in, she stepped away from the ticket desk and walked briskly towards the merchant.

He turned around instantly, as if he had eyes in the back of his head, caught the girl’s confused look and smiled savagely.

“So, how do I get to London?” Victoria was slightly out of breath, as she was walking too fast. She hoped that she had not misheard. “Request stop in Saint Petersburg… You’re kidding me, right?”

“Am I?” The merchant looked concentrated. “I’m selling tickets. You need them, don’t you?”

“Let’s assume you’re right.” She pulled herself together, although her heart was sinking. “Be that as it may, how is it possible to go there by bus?”

“It’s not by bus, it’s by subway,” the merchant smiled.

“What?” Victoria took a step back.

“It’s possible, if you buy a ticket from me.”

“You are kidding me. Why?” The girl cracked up.

“Easy up, keep in mind the instructions to the ticket,” the merchant grinned. “Here, take the ticket.” He quickly gave the book to the girl. “Leave your phone number. Once you’re in the tube train, you’ll get an SMS with the page number. You open it and then you get off in Saint Petersburg. Then you enter the subway again, and get the second SMS. You open the necessary page and end up in London. Got it? I keep it all simple!”

Victoria froze.

“Hello there…” She heard the merchant. “So, do we take the ticket, or do we hold the line?”

“We definitely will. What’s the figure?”

“Well,” the merchant lowered his voice. “It’s not expensive.”

“And still.”

“You’ll need to become a witch… For a while.” The merchant murmured quietly in a soft-soapy voice.

“A witch?” Victoria smiled in confusion.

“Yes, a casual witch, you know… Just for a little while.”

She laughed.

“I appreciated the joke. Funny. Now let’s talk serious business: how much do I owe?”

“I’ve already told you,” the trader answered dryly.

“I’m a stone’s throw away from becoming a Doctor of biological sciences, alright? And you ask me to be a witch. I used to be cynical about fairy-tales even when I was a little girl.”

“But you did believe in the ticket,” the merchant didn’t give up “You are young and pretty, you can’t be a Doctor of sciences… Alright? It’s you who tells fairy tales.

Victoria blushed slightly. She had a difficult day, and she caught herself thinking that the whole conversation with the complete stranger is akin to the theater bizarre. She couldn’t figure out, what kept her from bringing this senselessness to the end, she was confused.

“You see, dude, I’m very tired, and I’m really late. I have no idea of how you can help me, but if your tickets are real, then – fine, I’ll be a witch for a while. If that’s what it takes. But I can’t do it for a long time, I have plenty to do, you know. So, who do we set up pranks against?” She sighed heavily. “Or what have you – the address of the theater… Although I repeat once more, I’m no actress, I’m a Doctor of sciences.

“Biological, right – a stone’s throw away…” The merchant smiled and suddenly his voice grew louder. “Deal! Now it’s your book, Victoria, thank you so much… And enjoy your trip.”